


Interval Training

by StrikeLikeACobraKai



Series: Working Up a Sweat [6]
Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Aftercare really, At least in chapter 1, Blow Jobs, Bobby is thirsty for more things than he used to be, Bobby thirsty again, Bodily Fluids, Freaking feels everywhere, Grinding, If you don’t want feels definitely don’t read this oneeeeeee, Kink, Kissing, Kissing as foreplay, Less bodily fluids than usual I guess, M/M, Muscle Beach, No internalised biphobia in this series, Not gonna dwell on the angst much in Sweat but it is there during this section, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Other things you will like when you read them but I won’t spoil in the tags, POV Bobby, POV First Person, Please trust me with it, Power Dynamics, Public Exercise, Some angsty talk, Working out as foreplay, a little more angst, semi-public, smut with feels, sweat kink, working out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28550055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrikeLikeACobraKai/pseuds/StrikeLikeACobraKai
Summary: c. 1987.When Johnny and Dutch stayed the night at Bobby’s condo, something happened that has changed things for Bobby in ways he hadn’t expected.He wants to find out more about that from Dutch, and the only way he can do that, is by going to visit him.The only thing is, how has it changed things with Johnny?(Inspired by every shirtless pic/gif from TKK, and in particular the shorts and lack of shirts at soccer tryouts)
Relationships: Bobby Brown/Johnny Lawrence, Dutch/Bobby Brown, Dutch/Johnny Lawrence (mentioned), Johnny Lawrence/Dutch/Bobby Brown (mentioned)
Series: Working Up a Sweat [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018029
Comments: 47
Kudos: 21





	1. Rest Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KingKarate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingKarate/gifts).



> This series of standalones is getting less stand-aloney as we go, and maybe that time has passed altogether. Idk. I sure you do hope you’ve read the other instalments or this one may not make a lot of sense.
> 
> We can’t really be going any further without the plot from this part here, which is part of my earlier assurance that this series is going to end well for everybody. SO. In Chapter 2, we will return to the physical activity which gave Working Up a Sweat its name, instead of JUST this kind of activity here ^^). But I suspect you like this kind here.
> 
> Chapter 1: Bobby and Dutch (YEP you read that right). Chapter 2: Bobby and Johnny.
> 
> In Part 7, the OT3 reunites, to fuck us all up in the good way.
> 
> Just as an aside, I think we'll be finishing on Part 9, in the end. Thanks for reading!!!! Enjoyyyyyy. Love to hear about it if you do :D

Things with the three of us finished up real well on Sunday, despite the part where I’d worried for a little while that it had all gone to shit.

When they left, they were happy, and I don’t just mean in _that_ way - which they _were_ \- but also, it seems like everything is cool with the three of us. Nothing weird, lingering. And in that sense, I’m really glad I asked what I did, because I’m no longer so in the dark, and I guess I even feel like I’m kinda part of something with them. Something I really wanna be involved in, even if Johnny doesn’t want anyone thinking too much about exactly what it is.

I guess Johnny probably thinks that we’ll start the cycle again of me having to wait until he’s in switched on mode again, even though that might not be far away: until he feels like sex, or I try my luck to see if I can _get_ him to feel like it, or until the next time we have the three of us.

The thing is, I’m not going to. My switch hasn’t gone back off yet. Things have changed for me, somehow, after that other day. I’m not saying my whole life is upside down, or that now I definitely want a boyfriend _,_ or more than one, but I want _something_ more. I want connection. I want more of how it felt when Johnny was standing and lying behind me with his arms around me.

More of look number three.

I want more of how it feels when Dutch puts his arm over me when we’re lying there in bed afterwards, or, maybe best of all in some ways: a kiss. I don’t wanna wait until I’m given those things in such small doses, I need _more._

But I’m not gonna force anything on Johnny he isn’t ready for - a kiss, affection, clarity, _anything_.

I’m not, and I won’t, even if that means it never, ever happens for me.

I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided: that’s the price I’m willing to pay to have Johnny the way I have him, with our sometimes-thing, and as my _always_ best friend. If it’s _never,_ rather than sometime, someday, until I get more, then so be it.

I’m hoping that’s not how long it’s gonna be.

But I’m not gonna make him change, demand anything from him. I won’t; I’d never do that to Johnny.

Because I get it. I get _him_. He’s had people lead him to do things he doesn’t want to, and he’s had people treat him like shit, like he’s worth nothing; he’s had people use his weakness against him so that he’s developed the image he wears in response, and he’s had people have not a fucking clue who he is.

So even if I wish he’d give me more, I’m gonna be what he needs me to be, which I’ve always tried to do anyway.

I think the only reason, maybe, that I think I’m gonna be able to stand firm about that, and _wait_ , even if it hurts me, even if something different, deeper never comes for him and me in our thing, and we stay just like this forever, is because of where I’m standing right now.

When I’m knocking on Dutch’s door, I guess I shouldn’t be. I haven’t been given any rules, and yet I think this might possibly be against them, I’m not sure. I kinda can’t see how that’s fair, given that Johnny’s allowed to be with us both, by himself, and I’m gonna promise myself I won’t make a habit of it, but I’ve made up my mind to do it this once if Dutch is willing to.

There’s just way too much of something, that Dutch made me feel, for me not to explore that, and I figure with him at least, he’s gonna give me some clear lines about what’s allowed between just us, if I ask for them. And it’s not like we would be betraying Johnny. Dutch cares about him as much as I do, and I think he’s gonna get that I’m here to make sure that I get it right with Johnny in future, not to try to come in between them, or anything else.

I haven’t told him I’m coming, don’t even know if he’s gonna be home or not.

When the door swings inwards, he looks out, bleary eyed in a thin black bathrobe, badly tied at his waist, like he mighta slept in today after a late night, and threw this on to answer the door, with a cup of joe in hand. His place is a mess, although I don’t really notice it much, other than that it smells like bacon.

A moment passes of us looking at each other, of him raking his hair into better shape with his fingers, until he speaks first.

“Can’t say I wasn’t hoping you might do this.”

My heart turns around in a circle, a full three hundred and sixty degrees, and then tries to get back into the place where it’s supposed to be sitting in there.

“It’s okay?” I ask.

Dutch isn’t answering me, and I’m not sure if he even heard my question, because he’s looking at me kinda how he did when he kissed me, in the way he’s got about him, where he makes you feel like you’re the only one he sees, even though I know he’s got that special ability to do that for me and Johnny at the same time, too.

But it’s just me here, right now.

He reaches out for me, and draws me into his apartment.

The door is closed behind us, and he’s throwing back the last of the coffee, putting the cup on the table on top of a pile of unopened letters. Now he has both hands at my waist, and he’s walking backwards, and I’m following him, an overwhelming mix of warmth both in my body and deeper than that, with how his gaze won’t let me go.

He’s moved us to near the sofas, so we’re standing at the end of one of them, the one where he sat with Johnny, but he’s turned us around so that it’s me who can feel the sofa behind my legs.

Dutch still hasn’t said a single word except for his very first greeting, if that’s what you could call that.

He repositions his hands onto my shoulders, and pushes lightly.

I resist it once, automatically, and then smile when he does it again with a little more force in it. I let myself take the fall down, a long way it feels, to land with a bounce on a soft surface, laughing up at my friend.

He’s walking around to me, still giving me that look which means _him and me_ : nothing hard, nothing fierce, just the one that tells me right now, we’re close, in the way that I long for, the _exact_ way that I wanted to feel. I’m quickly shuffling further up the seat cushions than where I landed, so my legs are properly on the sofa, and making a gap, which I knew Dutch was gonna lie down in, right on top of me.

He does.

Dutch’s face is right above mine, and he’s heavy, way heavier than any girl I’ve held this way, but it doesn’t matter. His body is on mine, I’m trying to tell myself. That’s _him_. My friend is lying on me, and he feels so good I can’t breathe.

Holy _fuck_ , I’m not even sure I can handle how intimate this feels to have him there. I can’t take my eyes off him, can’t take in just how much I like the way he looks, the way it makes a weird light feeling inside me to have him gazing down at me like that. Maybe I should turn around and run home right now, because I’m worried, worried about just how strong that might get if we don’t stop this.

But if I do that, I’ll always regret it. I’ll always wonder what it woulda felt like to keep going.

I can tell, I _know,_ that he’s gonna kiss me now. But why does it feel _so good_ to know that? To watch him tilt his head and slowly start to come down?

It’s one kiss, one touch from both of us. And then it’s us opening to each other for the slowest kiss of my life to begin.

Dutch has his hand under my jaw, balled in a soft fist, right in the middle so that he holds my chin with his thumb while he moves into my mouth, and me into his. I follow his timing, breathless, hardly believing I get to circle lazily with his tongue when it comes to mine.

He’s so deeply into this, that I can’t help but follow him all the way in: it’s got all of his emotion, even when he does it so softly, so tenderly that it could be the first kiss either of us have ever had.

 _Slow can be better than_ anything, _if you know how to do it right,_ he said to me last time.

I get it. There’s never been anything more true.

I taste his coffee, kiss with my lips when we change position to breathe. My brain’s checked out entirely, again, just like the first time we kissed, except the white noise doesn’t bother me today.

My head is buzzing like a handful of cut wires and I love it. I wanna cut the rest.

I’ve had his dick in my mouth before, and not just before he comes, but during and after too, on that spectacular breakfast in bed morning at my house, and yet that didn’t affect me like this is affecting me.

My fingers are now up on his face. He hasn’t shaved, maybe for about a day, so I’m touching the slightly coarse sandpaper, which is lighting up the nerve endings on my fingertips in a way that sends a pulse of desire so strong through me I wonder if he can feel it from outside of me.

My other hand has been on his shoulder, not sure how long for, feeling him through the soft fabric, so sexy I can’t make sense of it, but checking that it’s exactly how I remember it there, seeing if there’s more to learn.

Inside his mouth is just so hot, like his body temperature might always be higher than mine, and I don’t mind when my tongue finds the edge of his teeth sometimes, or the quiet little sounds that sometimes our lips make.

He pulls back a little until we aren’t using our whole mouths any more, just kissing each other again, in small movements. I’ve almost forgotten he’s lying on my body, right in between my legs, until I _remember_ , and then, I hope he doesn’t mind, but I need to start kissing him a little harder, just a little, because Dutch is lying on me like we’re lovers.

Which I guess we are, maybe.

He must be able to feel how turned on I am in my jeans, although it’s easier for me given that I’m pretty sure he’s not wearing anything under that robe, so his erection is very obviously sitting pretty much right on top of mine, and I’m nearly dying thinking about that image.

His thumb starts to trace the side of my chin, back and forth, as he lets me pick up our pace, and I chase the last taste of his coffee, chase that heat of his until I can’t fucking _breathe._

I really want to ask him why the fuck he thinks Johnny doesn’t want to do this, feel _this_ , but now’s not the time, and I plan to do that, later.

When we finally take a break, which could be after any number of minutes, because I don’t even know how long it’s been since I got here, he’s got this relaxed smile, content, and I get it. That’s how I feel, too.

He watches my lips as he brushes slowly over them with his thumb, like he’s admiring me, and they feel swollen under his touch. Something long and winding is twirling inside me, sometimes curling up tight, sometimes unravelling and doing some damage in there, welcome havoc which I suspect might not be able to be repaired.

“Whatcha come over for, Bobby?” he asks.

“You,” I say softly.

He looks between my eyes and I see his tongue wet the place on his lower lip where his scar is.

“You wanna know what I want more than anything right at this moment?”

I nod, staring up at him.

“You.”

Oh _god._ It’s his words, his kiss and that smile, that does the damage, even though something tells me it makes no sense that it’s not his body, all those other parts that I know and love.

“Did I do it right?” I ask.

His smile has this tease in it, but it’s not mocking.

“I guess you must’ve, because it was like you said, like I might die any second.”

I can hear the mayday again.

_Mayday._

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And, I also remember you saying if I wanted any, I could get some.”

“That’s still true,” I reply, trying to keep my smile from growing too wide and making me look like an idiot, because it’s just a stunning feeling to think about getting off with him while I’m feeling this closeness at the same time. I already know somehow that it’s going to be better than I can dream of.

“Well, I’m gonna.”

Okay, so I give up trying not to grin. There doesn’t seem any point. “Yeah, you _are.”_

He shifts around a little so that only one of his thighs is between mine, and now one of mine in between his, near the sofa back, which seems a shame until he pushes his hips into me, and it makes the most impossible friction at my groin right outta nowhere.

At my soft groan, he chuckles and kisses my lips once. “You like that?”

I nod, closing my eyes when he does it again.

I can feel his hardness rubbing along my quads, and that alone would be enough to make this as hot as hell, but he’s managing to use his thigh up against me, and I have to meet him there, help him do this for us.

I lift up to kiss him again, wondering how the fuck I’m ever gonna do this again without _this_ , as part of it, the whole way through, but maybe that is all the more reason to make the most of today.

Dutch times his slow thrusts with how he kisses me, and it has me whimpering, and I can’t seem not to. He’s sounding from his throat, and I’m rubbing, hard, against him, the headiest turn-on that reminds me of being young, inexperienced with anyone, let alone a guy, but his thigh is just so hard, it’s got no give in it, which is different, and I _need_ that feeling.

Before it goes any further, and while I can still talk, I come out with, “I didn’t bring any other clothes.”

This makes him give that low chuckle again, because he knows what I’m getting at: our usual problem. And fuck _me,_ he’s going down to my neck.

“I can find you something,” I hear, and it’ll do, because his lips are tightening on my skin.

I’m smiling up at the ceiling while he works on me there, colors clouding into my eyes because he’s giving me pressure that feels _amazing._

His robe is loose now, not closed any more, and so I can easily move that down, bare his shoulders, so I can put my hands there and show more of how I feel about them. It’s not going to take much more of this, and the pressure he’s giving me in two places is too much in the best way. Oh god, he’s reaching up past me to grip the end of the sofa so he can anchor himself to push along me more, the movement along my dick causing my itch to start.

“Fuck, can’t get enough of how you feel under me…”

I twitch as my tightness pulls in even more, and his muscles are _clenching_ now, his deltoids sticking out into my grip, and I’m twisting so that I can lick those again, run my teeth there, and I feel his pressure increase on my neck, and I can’t help the sounds I’m making.

He's grinding into me, and a hot feeling bursts inside me as I think that I’m about to come during this: intimate, sexy as all fuck, like we’re doing something much more like a _particular thing_ , that I’ve done with girls.

I move my hands down to his hips, to behind there, lower, where I can feel his glutes working under my fingers, to bring him into me, my sounds more urgent, enough that he comes away to look in my eyes.

He keeps moving over me, and I can see we’re both about to feel it break.

“Gonna make you come,” he tells me. “And then I’m gonna take you into my bedroom, and do it again, slowly.”

My curse is a jagged groan, pulled from me as I let go, unable to resist, and he’s on my mouth again, sharing my ecstasy with me, and I feel him grow rigid under my fingers, and thrust hard. Our kiss is frantic, messy, desperate. Exactly right, as my release leaves me in pulse after pulse.

We kiss until that’s finished. And on after that, long enough that things start to get cool and sticky.

I follow him into his bedroom.

*

“Are we gonna tell Johnny about today?” I ask, when we’re lying on his bed, naked, under his comforter.

I’m on my stomach, next to Dutch in the same pose, and we’ve been talking, since we finished round two.

“Yeah, I guess. Although we don’t have to tell him anything we don’t wanna.”

We share a smile, both of us recognising how far away what we did today is from how it goes with Johnny there, and I’m sure Dutch is the same as me: we wouldn’t do it in front of Johnny if it made him uncomfortable, or at least wouldn’t do it much.

It’s not that it was necessarily better; it’s just something I needed, and I think Dutch must’ve too. It was easier to take that for both of us, without Johnny here. It has also confirmed in me that I am always, always going to want to know how this would feel with Johnny, too, so much that there’s a sad twinge I’m going to ignore for now, because I’m worried it might be fairly painful if I don’t.

“Can I talk to you about him?” I ask.

“Of course.”

I’m dying to know how long it’s been going on, and with what breaks in between, but I know that isn’t my business unless they want to tell me.

“Is Johnny the same with you as he is with me?”

“Well I can’t answer that unless you tell me how he is with you.”

“Most of the time, he’s just my best friend. He only lets this other thing happen when he feels like it, when he gets hot for it.”

“The rest of the time he pretends it’s not happening?”

“Yeah.”

“Then yeah, I guess.” Dutch grins. “He’ll wait until he can’t bear not getting some, and then he’ll come for it. Although I don’t let him get away with that as much as he’d _like_ to, whenever we start up again.”

“Does he mind? When you… when you ask for more?”

“Yeah, he does, sometimes. But I mind too, you know? I think that’s usually what stops it, for a while. He gets sick of me wanting more of it all than he does, so he pulls away. He always comes back sooner or later, though.”

“Dutch… do you… do you have any idea why? Why doesn’t he want this to _be_ more with you?”

 _Or with me,_ but I don’t say that.

“I don’t know what goes on inside that head. Which means maybe no one does, except possibly you.”

“If only.”

There’s a lot of things I get about Johnny that I think nobody else does, with the exception of Dutch about some of them. But I haven’t been able to make any headway about this. It can’t just be that he’s scared of commitment: that’s the way you behave with someone who you’re not sure if you want to let into your life, open up to, and share with. It seems completely pointless to do it with friends for life, who you already have that bond with. I doubt Johnny’s stupid enough not to get that.

Dutch sighs. “Well, I do have a theory, but only because I’ve had a _long_ fucking time to think about this.”

“Hit me with it.”

“Well, thing is I think that he’s got half his brain on us as his friends. You know how tight we’ve always been. Not all friends are like that, but we were. We always have been.”

“We always will,” I say. “We needed each other, back then.”

Our teenage years have glued us together in a way that can never be broken, we all know that.

“Exactly. But the other half of his brain is where I am, when he… comes to me. Where you are, too.”

“And?”

“And so, maybe he’s worried about what will happen if he mixes those. What if it all screws up? What if he’s left with nothing, _neither_ part?”

I stare at him. “You’re… you could be really right. _Shit._ He’d never risk that, would he?”

“It’s just a theory, Bobby. It’s the only thing I can come up with, but it might not be that. Or just that.”

“I feel like it’s part of it.”

“It has to be, right?”

Johnny, I know, couldn’t bear to lose his friends, lose any of us. We’re just about all he has that he can rely on. Dutch is looking at me exactly how I feel about it: sad, with no idea if there’s any way we could ever get rid of that fear, if Johnny has it.

I ask, “What should I do?”

Dutch puts his hand on my shoulder blade and starts to rub a nice touch there.

“Well, depends what you want. If it’s more sex, if you go looking before he’s ready, he won’t knock you back, not as long as you don’t make a habit of it.”

“Well, I mean sure. I could go for that just about every day if I had the chance.”

Dutch laughs. “We have that in common.” He looks right at me, and says gently, “You want more than that, though, don’t you?”

“I can’t help it… only to know what it feels like. With uh… with both of you. Are you angry with me?”

He gives a small shake of his head. “I already told you it feels right for me to have you here. Even more, now.”

Dutch is looking at me intently, and then his thumb brushes over my lips again.

The winding thing inside me stirs and coils itself around my vital parts, letting me know that it isn’t going anywhere now.

I lightly kiss the pad of his thumb, and something in his eyes changes, and he moves a little toward me, and then all the way, and we start to kiss again.

I know without any doubt that if none of the other stuff was happening, that I would ask Dutch to try something with me, see where it led; I’d be brave enough to risk him telling me he wasn’t interested if there was no Johnny as well. It’d be worth it in case he was.

But I just can’t, not without Johnny on exactly the same page as me. It would kill him; somehow I know that. More than that, it would kill _me._ And I’m certain that Dutch would feel the same way. I don’t even need to ask him. It’s the three of us, or it’s nothing. Something is starting between me and him, but we can’t go down that road unless we bring Johnny, too.

When Dutch has his head back on his pillow, I ask:

“Can we… can we get through to him about, like…?”

He smiles sadly. “I’ve been trying for years. If I can’t, I’m not sure you will. He’s not as scared of getting close to me as he would be to you.”

With those words, I go quiet, and I feel very uncomfortable, especially because we’re lying here so close, and there’s no way for me to pretend I didn’t really understand that.

A terrible part of me thinks I know _exactly_ what Dutch is getting at.

The terrible part is that I don’t mind the thought of meaning that much to Johnny: I _welcome_ it. And I _hate_ that I feel that, because Dutch deserves the world with how patient he’s been with him. It’s Dutch who deserves that, not me.

“What do you… mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Dutch looks at me for solid seconds, and I don’t know how to handle it at _all._ Why doesn’t he hate me for it? He _should_. He’s had Johnny for longer than I have.

What the hell can I possibly say to him?

I’m saved from deciding, because he goes on:

 _“C’mon_ Bobby, you’ve always been under his wing. He protects you. He cares like nothing else about you, and you know that. You save him from himself, and he knows if you weren’t here, he might not be either.”

“I wish I knew how to fix that. For… you.”

“You don’t need to. I’m something different to him. We have our own thing, and I love what is. I know that he loves me as his friend.”

 _So do I_ , I feel like saying, but given all the other feelings that are going on, saying that would only make things more confusing between me and Dutch.

Instead, I say, “It’s been a long time since Johnny has loved anyone as more than that.”

“Dead on, Bobby.”

It seems we agree on what problem number two might be. The question is whether we’re anywhere near right, and how many others there could be that we don’t know about.

“He doesn’t give his heart out, anymore, does he?” I slowly ask.

Dutch shakes his head, and there’s another calm but forlorn smile that makes me heartsick.

“It seems that way to me.”

Dutch has let me in to understand a lot of what has been happening for years for him, what it is like to have some of Johnny, but not all the parts you want to, which I’m understanding very well for him, and beginning to for myself.

I wonder if it feels better for Dutch that we both get it, that he’s shared it with someone. I hope so. I’d like to do that for him.

I reach for his hand and wrap it in mine, and he lets me bring it against me so I can hold it.

He sighs. “It doesn’t change that I’ll always be waiting for him whenever he comes back to me.”

“Why? Why, Dutch?”

“Because he’s Johnny.”

I know exactly what he means.


	2. High Intensity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the love on the last chapter! I enjoyed seeing you regulars, and loved hearing from newer readers! Thank you so much for the encouragement, it was wonderful. Hope you all like this one :)
> 
> Reminder that Part 7 will be the return of the OT3! <3333

Johnny and I spend Saturday morning strolling along the boardwalk at Muscle Beach. There’s a few places where guys work out, on bars, with weights, even down on the sand.

They tend to be in clusters, often with tight colorful clothes, and Johnny and I have both found a lot to look at. The guys, a lot of them, are really, really big, and I don’t think I like it so much in terms of what I like looking at. I prefer less bulk, but I can definitely admire them for the fact they’ve achieved it.

Johnny nudges me toward a chin-up bar, smirking at me, and so I go for it, even though I didn’t really come dressed to workout today: I’m wearing a t-shirt and cutoff shorts, definitely not exercise gear. But other people who aren’t wearing the main ‘uniform’ - what is essentially only a pair of skimpy briefs - are also joining in, lifting weights, so I don’t feel too out of place. Johnny looks slightly more the part in a tank and blue beach shorts.

I start to do some underhand pulls, and I feel a slight waver in the bar as Johnny launches up next to me, facing the other direction. He’s looking at me in between getting his hands in place. He goes wide grip, which he works on a lot, as anyone could see by his lats, and once he lowers down, I’m thankful for that shirt he’s wearing. I can see right in there through the armholes, see his muscles straining, see the hair under his arms before each pull up.

This is fun.

We haven’t gathered an audience, since I think we’re wearing too many clothes to be interesting, and there is quite a lot else to look at, but Johnny certainly has my attention, because he’s so hot I couldn’t imagine bothering to find the willpower to look away.

I love the general feeling here of everybody basically staring at whatever they like. You find something on display, and you look, and you don’t bother to hide it. Johnny’s watching me, too, smirking at me while we show off for each other.

He’s so strong, and for me, his body is pretty much the perfect size. I still have many moments, when I’m watching him working out, where I have to remind myself that he lets me touch that body, touch it a _lot_ when we’re doing that, and maybe that will always seem way too good to be true.

I make my last set harder by bringing my chest all the way up to touch the bar, grunting under the effort. Johnny drops down, caked in a sheen that I want to lick off of him, and he heads over and to grab a weight belt from one of the racks that anyone can use.

He comes back to the bar holding it with both hands, watching me as I finish up, and looking at me in a way I really, really like.

Once I’m back on the ground, he gives me a slow once over.

“You getting a little warm, Bobby?”

I get another flicker of heat in the back of my neck when I see the faded outlines that Dutch made on Johnny. They’re nearly gone, just the hint of darker skin in little marks on his neck, but I’ll never forget what it was like watching Dutch make those.

I smile. “Is that a hint to take my shirt off?”

“You take it how you want.”

I oblige him and tuck it into the back of my shorts, feeling my body start to tighten with how he looks down hungrily at my skin.

“You need something?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says, not bothering to hide it. “But that can wait a little longer.” He starts to tie the belt around his shorts at his waist. “Help me out?”

“Sure.”

I take the weight and follow him while he hoists himself back up.

“Good?”

“Yup. Let go.”

I do, gradually, and I see him sag under the extra mass, and then engage everything as he starts to lift.

His tank is lifting up and baring skin when Johnny’s at the low point, especially, and his abs are standing out like solid rows. Luckily for me I’m standing really close to those, and I start thinking quite creatively about things I have done or could do to them. It’s all I can do not to touch his obliques with my fingers, my tongue, or _both._

All the muscles in his arms look amazing, too, and I’m pretty much helplessly locked into staring at him now. Somebody is going to have to stop me, cos I won’t be able to stop myself. Johnny’s giving me the best show anyone’s doing down here, no contest.

His face shows so much strain on his way up, and he’s grunting, which does something very expected to me, then I’m staring into his eyes again.

He stops at the top, panting.

“I’m done.”

I step in to reach for the weight, guarding it on his way down, and he lowers pretty close into my personal space and doesn’t really leave while he undoes the belt. His look means we are doing something today, if that wasn’t already clear, so it’s good to know my job is going to be easy. Not even a _week,_ this time. Oh _, yes._

I’m pretty awake in my shorts, which could be awkward if anyone notices, but there’s so much to look at here, and so much looking going on, I doubt they will. Johnny does, I think. I almost think he’s going to reach out and touch my skin, or my shorts, or something, because he looks about as turned on as I am.

I really, really hope he’s got somewhere in mind, because there’s no way I can wait until we get home.

His hands cover mine on the weight, while he stands close to me, staring at me with that heat, but after a few seconds, he takes it from me and moves off to put it away.

“Thinking we should go get a drink,” he says, when he comes back to me. “Cool off?”

“I wasn’t planning to cool off.”

He gives me a little smirk and looks at my mouth, but only very briefly compared to how he sometimes does, which I wonder might be to do with what happened on Sunday.

I continue, “But yeah, a drink sounds good, I guess.”

“Well, can we get moving then?” he says, as if I’m holding him up.

I grin. “I don’t know where we’re going. I’m following you.”

“Well, _follow_ me, then.”

He takes off back up the boardwalk and I jog to catch up. We pass two bars, but Johnny turns away from the beach and I pull my shirt back on.

His eyes drift over to me while I do, but I think he gets that it’s probably better to be dressed when we’re not at the boardwalk anymore.

A little way down the street, on our right, Johnny stops in front of a run-down café. It’s called Harry’s, according to the faded stencil on the window, and the door opens for Johnny onto a checkerboard floor with some booths around the small area.

He holds the door for long enough for me to catch it, and heads over to one of the green upholstered booths. The vinyl is cracked in places, although intact where it counts, and on the table are some menus.

I sit down next to Johnny without thinking, rather than across from him, where a friend might sit, only realising it when he hesitates and then moves over further to give me room.

I sit so that we are touching, just, and I see the trace of a smile while he picks up a menu and starts reading.

He’s still warm and a little flushed, and I feel it, too, but the pedestal fan in the corner of the room sends wafts of air over us, and the effect starts to fade little by little.

We get burgers and sodas, and it’s not until I’m finished eating that I say, “I missed you at the gym on Thursday.”

There’s no reply, and so I turn to him.

“Something wrong?”

“No, why would there be?”

“Well, you didn’t show? And you haven’t told me why.”

“Didn’t feel like it.”

I’m confused by him being so aloof, given how he’s been with me all morning.

“Well, I waited for you.”

“Yeah.”

Leave it to him not to apologise, I guess, but it makes me impatient.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Can you tell me, please? I know it got a little bit weird, but I thought everything seemed fine when you left my house. And it seemed fine Tuesday and today, too, until now.”

“It _is_ fine.”

I roll my eyes and decide to put it right out there, even though I’m not sure what effect it will have on my plans of doing things with him today. “Is it about me kissing Dutch?”

“No.”

“Then what? And every time you say nothing, I’ll ask you again, so it’s up to you how long you want this to take.”

Johnny blows a breath out through his clenched teeth, and he gives me a tense look.

“You really wanna go there?”

Not really, I think, all of a sudden, because I find I don’t like him being mad at me, looking at me like that. But I have a bad feeling it’s too late to take it back.

I haven’t answered, so Johnny says shortly, “Fine, we’ll go there. It’s… I’m just worried.”

“About?”

He looks at me evenly. “That maybe I might have made a mistake bringing you into this with us.”

My face falls, and things start to hurt inside my head and my chest, pretty much _everywhere_. Before it takes over completely, Johnny sighs and closes his eyes, looking annoyed.

“I don’t mean it like that, Bobby. But I’m worried cos I don’t know if you’re… gonna get carried away. If you understand where this ends.”

“I do.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, we had that conversation.”

“We did, and then you two went and did something, which is fine, but I can tell that it was a big deal for you.”

I look away guiltily, deciding that today certainly isn’t the day I’m going to tell him I visited Dutch, because he will blow that way out of proportion with this mood he’s in, and he’ll have no fucking _idea_ where the two of us are at, with bearing with him and what he wants and needs.

“It was, wasn’t it?” He adds, a trace of softness in the words.

“I just wanted to know what it felt like.”

“That’s okay, but now you know, are you gonna be able to still…” He trails off, and then tries again. “I just… Bobby, I know what you’re like. That’s why I wanted to keep it really clear for you. I thought it would be better that way.”

How can Johnny be so oblivious that his _really clear_ isn’t the same one that Dutch wants? And for whatever part of this I am in now, it’s not the one _I_ want either, but I’m okay not to push for that for me, just yet.

I can’t deny any longer that I think I do want to get carried away, at least just give this enough room to see what it would be like if we do, but I’m not going to say that to him, and even less when he’s being like this.

“Well, you can relax. It is very clear, and it’s fine.”

His steady look means me thinks I might be lying, either to him, or also to myself, but I don’t have any other choice.

“I want you,” I tell him softly. “This is fine for me. I liked that kiss, but it doesn’t have to change anything. I want to do it again, but it’s okay if it doesn’t happen every time, or very often. Are you okay if we do that occasionally?”

Dutch isn’t the only one I want to do that to, but I suspect Johnny knows enough that I don’t need to say that.

“I already said, you can do what you want.”

“Okay, I will, then. I’ll do what I want.”

His annoyance, how unreasonable he’s being, and how stubborn about having his own way, has made something snap inside me. Dutch, and now me too: we’re doing so much to make this work for Johnny, and he doesn’t even know, which I guess means it’s fair that he’s not grateful, but I don’t feel like being fair right now. I feel like looking for danger.

I pick up my soda, but I don’t think it’s until I’ve had the straw in my mouth, holding it there with my fingers for a few seconds, slowly swallowing, sucking, and watching him, that Johnny gets it, and I see his eyes take on a shadow.

I keep it up, not bothering to hide anything about it from anyone, _too bad_ , and I make a show of it by parting my lips more.

His eyes darken enough that heat creeps into me and I’m smiling a dirty smile.

His hand slips down under the table and moves up my bare leg, irresistibly straight for my groin. He touches the front of my shorts, tight along the seam, and my arousal comes back again pretty quickly. It feels _amazing._

“You sure you wanna go _there_ , Bobby?”

“Very sure,” I tell him, and thank god, he’s giving me the fierce look again. I think I like that he does that mainly when it’s just him and me. I’m going to see just how far it will go today, because this seems like a _great_ way to take the edge off of our issue.

He rubs me, squeezes in, and I have to let out a hot breath, feeling myself grow into his hand.

“But what if someone sees?” he asks, his voice by my ear, lips brushing me lightly, in a voice so low pitched it vibrates through me. “What if someone notices where I’ve got my hand here?”

He’s stroking along me, and holy shit, how quickly I am getting into it today. Might be a new record, because it feels like we’ve already been going for a few minutes.

My voice chokes around my words. “I don’t…”

“I might start to get you really hot,” says the whisper. “What if someone sees that?”

Fuck, he’s so big, and so warm, and so in my space, and I _need_ him.

I whimper and push my drink away, putting my elbow up on the table so I can cover my mouth with my fist.

“You already… have…” I breathe quietly, my mind following every rubbing movement, and waiting for the next.

Johnny smirks and moves even closer, staring at me, his body heat pooling with mine. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You like me touching you here where anyone could look across and notice.”

“Oh fucking _hell_ ,” I whisper into my hand, and I’m looking away, unable to keep his gaze that close. “Johnny, I _can’t…_.”

He laughs a dangerous sound. “Too late for that. You’re already nearly there, aren’t you? A little more of this, and you’ll… just…”

I gasp and try to stifle it with my fist.

My head’s a confusing mess of _stop, don’t stop_. Whether I’ll be able to bear it if I don’t just come in a few seconds, how the hell I won’t cry out.

But he withdraws suddenly. I swear and look at him accusingly, the pain of longing burning into my dick, the throb so close to breaking, and he isn’t letting me.

“Outside. Now.”

He’s looking hard at me when I don’t move. “Do you wanna come or not?”

“ _Yes.”_

I hate how much that sounded like a plea, but it was, because I’m so desperate. One tiny flash wavers in the fierce look, so brief that maybe it didn’t.

“Well, so do I.”

We get up, and his small gesture means, I know it does, to wait just long enough, before I follow him out.

Past the banging door which leads to the kitchens, past the restrooms on left and right, and out the back door into the dead-end back alley.

We’re bricked in on every side with high buildings: there’s a trash can, and there’s a wooden chair, some cigarette butts on the ground underneath it, and Johnny is leaning against the wall to my left, his legs already wide apart.

I approach him with as much confidence as I can, which isn’t a lot, but my need fills in the gaps.

I don’t think I can understand how or why it feels good to be afraid of Johnny while I want him, to be taunted by him at the same time as knowing that he will look after me because he always has, or to have him tell me what to do, but it _does_ feel good, all of this does. I need more of it _right now._

We both know what I’m here for, and I kneel down, my bare knees on the asphalt.

Johnny’s hand comes straight up onto my head this time, like he’s more at home with this atmosphere, knows exactly what he wants.

He’s mostly hard as I take him out, and I stroke him into my mouth, about halfway in, moving my lips around him.

He’s so warm, so big and thick, so much the taste I need, and I hold him with my hand like I adore him, because I do.

He won’t look away from me, and it makes me nearly cry to see how intensely he’s feeling this moment with me.

Little movements come as his body responds. I play him over my lips and circle my tongue slowly around his head, desperately gazing at him.

He says hoarsely, “Fuck, you look so good when you do that to me...”

The words fill my ears with fire, and I need more. His eyes burn as I slide him in deep, and mine roll back in pleasure as I work him with my whole mouth. The fingers in my hair start to move in time with me, and then faster, telling me the rhythm he wants.

“You know what would be even better?” he asks, the fierceness growing into sharp focus. “If you touch yourself.”

I look my shock at him, tremble, and he only smiles arrogantly. “I can tell that you want to. I know how badly you need to come, Bobby.”

I can’t cope, and of course he’s _right._

That’s _exactly_ what I want to do, and I go for my zipper, my brain in meltdown with how it feels to suck him off when he’s in this mood. When I don’t know what he’ll do next, when he’s so sexy it hurts to be so close to him.

But his voice stops me. “No, I don’t mean like that.”

My eyes go wide and the taunting smile bears down at me. I don’t understand anything about this game, but it might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and it seems sick to think that. It’s so hot I could burst into pieces and be quite okay about it happening, as long as Johnny lets me have his dick in my mouth like this, touches my head like that. Threatens and teases me like this, all while holding my reward just out of reach.

Years and years of how much we care about each other are muddying up how I feel about him right now, and I’m not going to be able to undo that because it’s spreading out in me like a landslide; I’m as powerless against it as I am about the winding feelings I have with Dutch.

I want to plead, _Johnny, please, you have to let me,_ but instead I whimper onto him and graze my hand across my shorts, hoping that’s what he means, welcoming the tiny bit of relief I’ve needed ever since Johnny took his touch away inside.

“Exactly,” he tells me approvingly, and the flash in the fierce glare is what I crave.

His mouth opens on a loud breath as I take him in deeper, not forgetting the way I’ve learned to use my tongue. He’s leaking into me, and it makes me feel like I’m high, like it does every time that starts.

“That’s right,” he tells me in a long sigh. “Just like _that_ …” His eyes move between where my hand is on my shorts and up to my mouth, full of want, cold blue, an ice burn into mine at the sight of what I’m doing.

Both of his hands are on my head, with some pressure, like I’d better not think about not going deep enough, fast enough.

“You can do it harder than that.”

I try, and my groan is stifled by him as I keep my hand moving on myself, crazed by how badly I need the feeling there.

“I said harder…” he warns, and I _try_.

My jaw is sore, because I keep forgetting to relax when I get turned on, but I force it to, and give Johnny the pressure he seems to want today, focussing as much I can around his head every time I move up.

He’s tensing up as he gets on his build, as he pushes out into me and breathes long breaths, his legs solid and clenched either side of me, the muscles in his arms long lines.

“Are you still going?” he asks. “Are you gonna come while you’re doing that to me?”

I moan, because it’s about to happen, I can feel myself drawing in, and I’m desperate to get him there with me.

“Stop touching yourself,” he says sharply.

I feel tears prick my eyes, because I don’t know if _can_ stop, but my hand already has, and yet the feeling in my dick has not.

Johnny’s nearly there, his head pressing back hard on the bricks as he stares at me, lips parted, his sounds getting louder, his body tightening.

“Oh shit yes, that’s _it_ …”

It hurts so much to know he’s going to come without me, even though I _need_ him to come, so I can watch, so I can feel as he empties himself in my mouth. But I wait, I wait for what he wants me to do, and I’m moving faster for him.

The next instruction hits me head on.

“Take me out of your mouth and onto your tongue, so you don’t bite me. When I say so, you’re going to come.”

I groan in pain, because I think Johnny might be right, I hope to _fuck_ he’s right. I grip him at his thick base and stroke him hard onto my tongue.

He grunts and shudders once, and I see the thought in his face, hear the word even before his whispered gasp.

“ _Come.”_

And I do, drowning in my feeling as he starts to wet my tongue, everything sore inside me rushing out and upward and away, as I soar into the release he gave me. He’s groaning as he fills me, and coats me with his salt and I take all of it, feeling like I could cry about how good this is, how much I needed it.

I see by his face that he did too, that he loved how much I enjoyed it, and there’s something deep and connected to me in that look, like he knows I had to trust him then, and that I _did_ , and that this was what we got as a result.

My shudders have stopped, and I feel weak, and more fulfilled than seems at all possible. Johnny has stopped throbbing into me, and I kiss him softly around his head, staring up at him while his hand remains resting on my face

And then I gently let him go. I take the traces of him into my mouth with my finger, cleaning my lips, and I’m trembling like I might collapse onto the ground from what we just did.

Johnny’s sliding down the wall until he’s sitting there, breathing hard, with me in between his legs, hand still outstretched.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he says, before he pulls me toward him and joins our mouths.

If Dutch is my mayday, this is the plane crash.

It’s come out of nowhere, and Johnny has his tongue between my lips, inside me, kissing me where I just had him, where I’m sure I haven’t swallowed it all yet.

Maybe two seconds, maybe three, and I realise I can kiss him back. Well, in theory.

Nothing in my body works. I can’t get it to.

I hear him make a sound, frustration, and a hand grips my arm hard to pull me closer, like a pinch, forcing me to come into his space. Finally I kick into gear and get up properly, even though my knees and shins scrape hard against the asphalt, realising that this could be my one chance to have him kiss the absolute fuck out of me.

I groan into it, onto Johnny’s tongue as he enters my mouth over and over, feeling as wired as if I didn’t get off just then, but this is a different kind of need, right now a more important one, and fuck it, I’m touching him, and I’ll take the consequences if there are any.

Maybe he doesn’t notice; he’s still got his hand on my face from before, and both of mine are on his, and I really need to stay here for the rest of the day, maybe tomorrow too.

My sound is more like a sob than a moan, as I dive into him as deep as I can, neither of us with any time to be gentle, or worry about timing. I’m in close against his body, my elbows on his tank, my thighs touching inside his. I press into his cheeks with my fingers, touching, feeling what it’s like to hold him there.

When he pulls away slightly, I follow him so that he knows I’m not done yet, I’m not wasting my chance. After a hesitation, he fits his mouth around me again, and I find his tongue.

I spend what I know might be the last few seconds thinking about how different he is under my fingers to Dutch; his cheeks are not quite so rough, his jaw a different shape, his mouth more forceful.

Johnny breaks our kiss.

My hands are still on him, his on me, and I’m breathing hard, almost in his lap.

He stares at me, and there’s a hint of that accusation again, the way he looked at me after I saw him kissing Dutch last weekend, but nearly all of it is look number three, and it’s everything I could ever, ever need.

Right here, this moment.

I’ll never forget, I promise myself, in case it’s the only one I ever have with him.

I know I need to move away, because it’s over. I got what I wanted, and it was _everything._

I feel like saying to him, with every bit of sarcasm I can muster, I can see why you hate doing that so much.

But I don’t. He asked me not to make him regret it, so I won’t.

I do what I know Johnny needs me to do, and I let him go, and move out of his space.


End file.
